Wall-E 2: The Invention of Love
by Just a Girl From Owl City
Summary: A lonely, orphaned boy finds an old, broken-down robot in the basement of the boarded-up clock factory where he lives. A girl, living with her godfather in his workshop, finds a probe lying abandoned and alone in a crater. Clutched in the broken robot's hand is a heart-shaped locket. The probe holds an old brass key. The children, and the robots, are destined to meet. Started Chap2
1. Chapter 1: Hugo

_**Hey, thanks for reading! I'm glad I finally got the time to start writing this! **__** Hope you enjoy! No flames please. Review and let me know what you think! I DO NOT own The Invention of Hugo Cabret or WALL-E. They are the brainchildren of Pixar and Brian Selznick.**_

_My name is Professor H. Alcofrisbas, and I am here to tell you a story. It's a story of how two children and two automatons saved humanity. But first, I want you to close your eyes and imagine yourself sitting in the darkness, like the beginning of a movie. The sun will soon rise, and a boy will wake at the crack of dawn, in an old abandoned clock factory. __**Follow him,**__ because this is Hugo Cabret. His head is full of secrets, and he's waiting for his story to begin._

Hugo slowly opened his eyes, nearly blinded by the sunshine streaming through the shuttered windows. It was Monday. The clocks needed to be wound again, or he wouldn't be able to sell them in the streets this afternoon. Then he would have no _francs _to buy bread with. Forcing himself to sit up and place his tired feet down on the creaky old floorboards, Hugo stood up, stretching and yawning as a wonderful _pop _ran down his spine. Taking his bucket of tools off the shelf that hung above his bed, Hugo set to work. His stomach rumbled, but he paid it no attention. It had been three years since his parents died, and he had become accustomed to the gnawing pangs of hunger. He had almost wound all the clocks, exhaling and walking down the basement stairs as quiet, overlapping clicks filled the room. There was an old grandfather clock that was his prized possession. This was the one clock Hugo would never sell, because it belonged to his father. He had been a horologist, a clockmaker. The grandfather clock was the last thing his father had salvaged and repaired before the tragic accident.

It stood in the lobby of the dusty old store, but Hugo kept the crank to wind it in the basement. The old stone steps felt cold under his bare feet, but like the morning pangs of hunger, it was something Hugo had become accustomed to. A hundred years had passed since humanity had returned to earth, and his father had been responsible for finding hundreds of antique clocks, weathered by time but somehow miraculously restored to working order. Then he would polish and clean the machines until they looked brand new. Although a layer of dust covered the old shop, Hugo was careful to make sure all the clocks were sparkling and polished. The grandfather clock especially. He carefully found his way to the light fixture, a glowing iridescent beam that threw cold, diffused light across the room. Hugo walked over to an old, rusty keypad on the wall and pressed a few numbers. The wall opened to reveal a safe. In it was the crank. Taking it out, he felt the iron weight, heavy in his hands. He was about to carry it upstairs when he accidentally bumped into a cloth-covered object leaning up against the wall. It let out a small squeak. Startled, he turned. He had lived in the clock shop for years now, but he had never taken the time to de-clutter the basement. Setting the crank down on the floor beside him, Hugo slowly pulled the white cloth away, like a magician in a disappearing trick.

The difference was, Hugo found something.

It was a rusting, broken-down robot! Obviously it had been down here for a long time. It was filthy- so filthy, in fact, that Hugo couldn't even tell what color it was. Still, he reached for it with trembling hands. Was this a secret project of his father's? Hugo didn't know. Either way, he shared many of the same genes as his father, and when he found something broken, there was this incurable urge to fix it. It was strange, like an itch Hugo couldn't get rid of. But it was a good feeling, the urge to get to work. Excitement jumped around inside his young, hungry stomach, and he almost forgot about the ache. Thoughts swirled around in his mind, like jumbled pieces of machinery. It wasn't every day that something got him this excited. Eventually, even winding the old grandfather clock became tiresome, as much as he prized it. Turning his attention back to his newest discovery, his hands shook as he inspected it. The robot was a small metal box, with treads you'd expect to see on an army tank. But this robot didn't look dangerous. His metal "arms" ended in hinge-like hands. His eyes resembled an old set of binoculars, with a metal bar for a neck. Taking an old cloth, Hugo wiped the dirt away. He blinked. Was he seeing things, or did the robot seem to have a sad expression on his face? Most robots were just there to do everyday jobs. Even their "feelings" were obviously programmed. But this robot. . .even though he wasn't turned on, he almost seemed _alive. _

Frowning, Hugo got back to work cleaning the robot. What he saw- at least, what he THOUGHT he saw- reminded him of things he wanted to forget. Soon the robot was sparkling clean, but he was still broken. Maybe it was just some strange little preference of Hugo's, but it made him feel better to have someone around besides himself, even if it was just a machine. Still, it made him sad to see the robot just sitting there, stock-still and silent. Maybe it was just Hugo's imagination, but the robot really had looked sad. Carrying him upstairs, Hugo put the robot down in the floor of his father's old workshop. He was as large as Hugo was, so it was no easy feat. He made a mental note to finish the levitation device his father had been working on. Looking once again into the robot's eyes, Hugo saw the same lonely expression. Quickly leaving the room, he decided it was time to open the booth. His stomach growling was beyond the point of forgetting about. He never had to worry about the front door, because no one would go into a boarded-up shop. Still, he lowered the latch, just in case. Walking out into the street, he saw the same bustling stores, flower sellers and tradesmen he saw every day. Sometimes, on a good day, one of them would toss Hugo a golden franc to buy bread with. Most just saw him as a dirty street urchin begging for money. Unfortunately, the world had become much like it was eight hundred years ago. People only thought about their own good. Hugo looked down at the ground and kicked a scrap of newspaper to the side as the town baker glared at him. He knew he was a thief, and he hated it. Hugo tried to buy bread when he could. That was why he sold the clocks- but sometimes, on a day when he didn't have any luck, there were no golden _francs_ for the baker. Hugo never bought bread at his shop, but always slipped in and out, knowing the older man often fell asleep, leaving his wares in the window. Usually, he got away unnoticed. But he had some very close calls. The baker, red in the face, chased him out with a broom, yelling, "THIEF! GET OUT OF MY SHOP!"

Hugo wasn't really afraid of the baker. The old man wouldn't hurt a fly. It was Monsieur Adolphus, the town's police officer, that he made the most effort to avoid. He was heavy, muscular and carried a Taser in his right hand. No one called him Monsieur Adolphus, however; everyone simply called him "Monsieur Inspector." Even the old boxer from years ago, Mr. Dante, was a bit intimidated by the hulking police officer and his Taser. Children ran away when he came down the street, mothers took their hands and led them away. The government wasn't exactly the most stable in these days, and police forces were becoming especially overbearing. Thankfully, they made their rounds enough that people learned the best ways to avoid them. Hugo was setting up his stand like he always did. Pressing a button, a shelf unfolded instantly. Taking the many clocks out of his rusty Radio Flyer wagon, he pushed his battered glasses up on his nose. Smiling at a small windmill clock as it struck the hour, Hugo watched a small boy and girl come out of the tiny doors, their clogs tapping the ledge they stood on. The bells inside their shoes tinkled as they danced. The mill's sails turned as the music box played a Dutch folk song. This was why Hugo loved fixing things: to see them working again. It made him feel complete somehow, knowing that he had completed something else.

His thoughts were interrupted by the obvious scent of alcohol as Monsieur Adolphus' hot breath burned the back of his neck. The muscles in Hugo's shoulders tightened as he did his best to look strong. Turning to face the giant man, he put on his bravest face. Instead of speaking his native French, Hugo began speaking in Italian, his mother's native language. Looking confused, Hugo spread his hands out and shook his head, frantically saying, "Non parlo francese. IO sono nuovo qui. STO solo vendendo orologi per ottenere fino a quando prendo il treno al rientro a casa. Mio zio è venuta a prendermi." _I do not speak French. I am new here. I am only selling clocks to get by until I take the train back home. My uncle is coming to pick me up._ He swallowed hard as the officer scrutinized him with glazed-over, but still intelligent and brash, eyes. Suddenly, he laughed in his drunken stupor and smiled condescendingly, saying in Italian, "Vai su, ragazzino. Vendita - orologi."_ Go on, little boy. Sell your- clocks._ Picking up a very rare Spanish timepiece, with elegant carvings and bright colors, he laughed again, as if it were some hilarious joke. Hugo's face turned crimson and his hands balled up into fists, but he didn't say anything. Finally, the police officer left, and Hugo let out an enormous breath. Growling like a dog, he returned to his work. Then his face softened a little as he placed another clock on the shelf. A small, sad smile passed across his face. Then he turned out to the busy, bustling streets and began shouting his everyday cry: "Clocks! Antique clocks for sale! You may never see pieces like this again!" Unfortunately, not many people wanted to purchase his wares. Why buy an ancient watch when they could press a button on their wristband and instantly see the time? Along with the clocks, Hugo also managed to sell small mechanical animals. These were the main reason he was able to buy bread on most days. They were a novelty to passing children, who loved the toys. They were very different to the wooden rocking horses and pull-animals they usually played with. Hugo usually made enough to buy a roll, maybe a loaf if the vendor was generous. A little girl ran up to the booth with her mother, her golden ringlets bouncing as her frilly dress sparkled in the sun. "Mommy, mommy, can I have a wind-up mouse like Charlie does?" Her mother's mouth tightened as she looked down at Hugo's grubby appearance. He stood up a little taller as she scrutinized him, like most everyone did. It was true that the world WAS beginning to grow dirty again. A worrying accumulation of trash blew across the streets each day, but people were more concerned about looking nice and buying a new beach house than sweeping up the growing mess. The landfills were beginning to overfill, and this made people uneasy. But ever since things had stabilized and the world had a new president, things were changing. The greed made Hugo angry. He did his best to keep his booth clean, and he often swept the streets.

But the people, walking down the street in their overpriced finery, didn't seem to care. _Fashion isn't everything,_ Hugo often thought. It crossed his mind again as the woman, her face caked with makeup, gave him a disapproving look-over. He wore a brown jacket, with an old gold and white striped sweater underneath. A pair of brown shorts did nothing to protect him from the cold, and his brown loafers had holes in the toes. His beat-up, oval glasses rested on his nose, and his black hair, unkempt and messy, fell unevenly across his forehead. If someone with a good heart saw Hugo, they would have called him a kind-looking, intelligent boy who had come across some very hard times. All the wealthy mother of the happy, pink-cheeked, golden child saw was a dirty, ugly street urchin, selling oddities on the side of the street. Looking at her, he saw a purple ball gown with flounces, a hat with a large, floppy feather, high heels, and a silk umbrella. Her red lipstick all too red, her gaze all too needle-sharp, her step all too mincing as she shook her head authoritatively, leading her innocent daughter away as her smile faded. "But mommy, he looks like a nice boy. I know he don't have a lot of money, but. . ." "DOESN'T, Regina," Sher mother said. Clearing her throat as her daughter's blue eyes blurred with tears, the one bit of love and human kindness she had was extended. "Oh, all right," she sighed, setting down the coins without even LOOKING at Hugo. Regina skipped away, her eyes shining, but this time with happiness. Turning to Hugo, she threw him a heart-melting smile. "Thank you," she said silently. A grin played on Hugo's lips, and he returned the smile. A strange warmth filled his heart as he whispered, "You're welcome."


	2. Chapter 2: Isabelle

"Isabelle! Come and bring me my tools, please." "Coming!" Isabelle called from the top of the stairs. Her short brown hair bounced as she came down with the old tool bucket. Her eyes shining, she could barely keep still. _This was the day. _She had been asking Grandpapa about it for weeks, but all he said was, "Wait, Isabelle," with a smile that tested her patience until she felt like she was going to snap! But today was different. It was finally Monday, the day he would show her his latest discovery.

Mama Jeanne set a plate of crepes down in front of her granddaughter, but Isabelle was too excited to be hungry. After doing her best to wolf them down, she took off from the table and ran for the workshop. "Isabelle!" her grandmother exclaimed as she watched her go. Sighing and putting up her hands, she laughed a little. "Just like Georges," she chuckled.

Grandfather was hunched over a project, like he always was. The way his eyes squinted and the curve of his mouth made Isabelle want to laugh, but she didn't. Instead, she sat down and put a hand on his shoulder. "Papa Georges, you said you'd show me today." "Show you what?" he said grumpily, still focused. "Aren't you supposed to be eating breakfast?" "The surprise, Grandpa!" she urged, lightly shaking his shoulders. "What surprise?" he asked innocently, unable to keep a hint of irony out of his voice. "You know what I mean!" Isabelle almost laughed, catching on. "Now get up and stretch your legs, Papa," she said, imitating Grandmother. "You've been at it all night, and now it's seven in the morning!"

Chuckling, he stood up slowly, taking off his lab coat and walking over to the coat rack, where he put on a dark trench coat and his hat. Isabelle followed suit, buttoning up a tan jacket that was a little large for her. Slipping on her shoes, she sped out the door faster than her grandfather could keep up. Finally, he climbed into the front seat of their car, and they left the house. Mama Jeanne ran to the window, waving something white in her hand. "Wait, Isabelle! You forgot your scarf!" "I don't need it, Grandmama! I'll be fine!" Mama Jeanne tried to get her husband's attention, but the car was already gone.


End file.
